


here i am, pry me open

by Fumm95



Series: The Best of Me (Clarmont/Morgaine) [2]
Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Backstory, Bad Parents, Canonical Character Death, Character Growth, Child Marriage, Childhood Trauma, Conspiracy, Conversations with Subtext, Ethical Dilemmas, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Ficlet Collection, Fictober 2020, First Dates, Gen, Going Home, Happy Ending, I don't even know if that's a good tag to use tbh, Implied Physical Abuse, Introspection, Mentions of Selling into Servitude, Minor Character Death, Morgaine had a really rough childhood y'all, No betas or research we die like men, Oblivious Idiots Are Oblivious, Overthinking, Reunions, Shameless lack of knowledge on historical clothing, Wakes & Funerals, kind of, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 13,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: "Here I am, pry me open.What do you want to know?I'm just a kidWho grew up scared enoughto hold the door shutand bury my innocence."--Eight (Sleeping at Last)A collection of stories about Lady Morgaine of Revaire, Baroness Namaire, based on Fictober prompts.
Relationships: Clarmont/Revaire Widow
Series: The Best of Me (Clarmont/Morgaine) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729444
Kudos: 2





	1. forward and back (1. Rise)

**Author's Note:**

> The Fictober prompts may be found [here](https://fyeah7kpp.tumblr.com/post/629470651207598080/many-thanks-to-quilleth-for-help-with-the-image).
> 
> Day One: Rise

If it weren’t for the bedlam that had already taken over their house, it would have been difficult indeed to tell that dawn had broken over the day. Outside, clouds hung, low, swollen, and as dark as midnight, but Mother’s shrill voice was unmistakable, ringing through the halls directing everyone hither and yon.

From within the relative safety of her bedchamber, Morgaine stared out the window. In front of the entryway, a carriage, bright and ornate and no doubt far more expensive than anything she had seen in her entire life, rested on the drive, heedless to the rain which pelted against the hood. The driver, clad in a cloak which blocked his expression from view, huddled in the seat, waiting.

Waiting for her.

She bit her lip, fingers worrying with the beads around her neck, their cool weight heavy and unfamiliar against her skin. Then again, everything from the gown, heavy and elaborate, carefully padded to enhance her appearance, according to Mother, to the jewels borrowed from Aunt Marguerite, was foreign, at once too gaudy and yet, if the whispered arguments she had overheard were any indication, not extravagant enough.

After all, what else did she, a quiet, slight girl of scarcely thirteen summers, have to attract and retain the attentions, if not the affections, of Baron Namaire? It was, in some senses, a miracle that she had even succeeded to begin with…

A knock on the door interrupted her reverie and she stiffened as the door creaked open, only to realize as the quiet footsteps of her sister registered. Emmaline, clad in her own dress of rich blue velvet, sat on the bed beside her, face upturned with an expression of weariness far too mature for her nine tender years.

“Morgaine.”

The whisper was soft, hardly audible, but still she found herself swallowing hard, biting the inside of her mouth hard enough to draw blood, as she wrapped an arm around the small shoulders.

“Is it time?”

“Mama sent me to fetch you.”

She nodded, setting her shoulders, even as Emmaline visibly hesitated, her face melting into one of woe. “Do you have to go?”

Despite her best efforts, she froze, the words that she had been rehearsing for days, weeks, dying on her tongue. To her parents, to the Baron, she had personas and false smiles, but to Emmaline, young, sweet Emmaline who listened to and trusted her…

“Morgaine! Come, before we’re late!”

The screech, accompanied by the thundering of footsteps, echoed through the room, and she started, sobering reality slamming into her with all the force of a runaway stallion.

Steeling her resolve, she nodded and stood, smoothing the rich fabric with fingers that she willed not to tremble. “I do.”

Her back as she descended the stairs of her childhood home was ramrod straight.


	2. refuge (2. Shade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine in a rare moment of calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever write a fill longer than 500 words? Scientists unsure.
> 
> Also, yes, I am simply running under the assumption that the peerage is named by English rules and made up an extra name because frankly that's all I'm even remotely familiar with. And I'm not sure I care enough to put more thought into it lol.
> 
> Day Two: Shade

The barony of Namaire was easily the largest in the small backwater county that she had grown up in. Rather than the barren soil of her childhood, the lushest, richest land in all of Vilanchey stretched as far as the eye could see. The fields were covered in waves of various crops. The forests and rivers were teaming with game and fish. And sitting atop a gently sloping hill, the manor itself, the jewel of the county completing the picturesque landscape, overlooked it all, a majestic building of white stone.

It was a far cry from the crumbling edifices and lifeless grounds of her past and yet…

She allowed herself a sigh as she wandered the path away from the mansion, away from the servants looking to her for direction, from the expectations and pressure for her, as the mistress of the household. Instead, she squinted against the sun, beating down in the late summer air against the neatly manicured stone paths and green lawn, the small army of gardeners, laboring to keep the estate as flawless as the rest of Namaire. Or, at least, everything except…

For a moment, she froze, staring at the faint bit of color in the distance, and then she found her feet guiding her without thought, oblivious to the greetings of the groundkeepers, beyond the immaculate lawns and to the bushes beyond, dark and thick with flowering vines climbing at random intervals. Wild and unkempt and _free_.

Ducking into the hedges, tall enough to tower over her head, she drew a deep breath, her first, it seemed like, since arriving at Namaire. Hidden from the calculating eyes of her husband, from the curious and well-meaning looks from the servants, even the sounds of birdsong and the bustle of the groundskeepers faded, muffled by the rich silence.

For the first time in her life, there was no screaming, no bitter glaring, harsh scolding, or endless fussing. No scared or greedy or calculating eyes on her, the quickest minded, the sharpest tongued. The headstrong girl, the consolation prize. The eldest sister. The obedient wife.

Here, among the hedges and flowers, at least for a moment, she could close her eyes and simply be.


	3. conspiracy (3. Weave)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine catches her first hint that all is not well in Revaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, I'm fully a day late. IRL is a bit of a bitch sometimes, especially since I'm in grad school lol. But on the bright side, I did get to hint at some departures from canon that I'm taking with Morgaine and her relationship with Clarmont, so that's fun. :D
> 
> Day Three: Weave

If she had been asked before, she would not have expected that there were any specific advantages in her marriage to Baron Namaire beyond the usual. That was not to say that she had not managed to free herself from the shackles of poverty, the enduring resentment of parents who only ever compared her worth to that of her brother’s and found hers lacking, but in doing so, she only managed to trade one for another, and one who saw even less value in her, other than perhaps a tiny thing to command and produce him a new heir.

Still, a less resourceful and more virtuous individual than she could have found ways of keeping herself afloat and she could do more still. Accustomed to living alone with only his child and heir within the large manor, the baron had a habit of conducting his business wheresoever he saw fit, ensuring that his servants would remain discreet, no doubt on fear of being released or perhaps even death.

The addition of one young woman, still a child to most eyes, focused, as any obedient wife would be, on her sewing, went completely unnoticed by both her husband and his various associates.

At first, it was more an act of self-preservation than anything else; she had noticed very early on that his mood would shift drastically, depending on how the conversations would go. And so, she would perch herself in the room, ostensibly busy with her needlework but also with ears attuned for any signs of trouble.

It was during one of those meetings when she first heard whisper of the threat of dissidents and rabble rousers within the kingdom. They spoke of the remnants of old Revaire, working alongside the peasantry, those poor who had not been fortunate enough to be blessed with power following the coup. Her husband, complacent to the last, had not given it much stock, but his friend, Count Alexandre, all furtive eyes and duplicitous manners, had been insistent.

The fact that the ensuing argument led to one of the foulest moods she had ever had the misfortune to bear the brunt of only served to raise her own suspicions on the matter… as well as reinforce her own less than scrupulous plans.

Wherever his other, more physical, strengths lay, Baron Namaire was not a man known for his great cunning or, indeed, any manner of intelligence. But she, young and clever and opportunistic as she was, could find ample use for it.

Of that, she was certain.


	4. worth (4. Gold)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine picked the wrong conversation to eavesdrop on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still running late, whoops. At this rate, I probably will be a full day behind for the rest of the challenge LOL.
> 
> Also, uhhhh... things get dark. Like, mentions of selling people into servitude dark. Because Morgaine's childhood kind of sucks a lot and also of course I'm going to take a prompt like "gold" and turn it into that. So, uh, please don't read if you don't like that kind of thing.
> 
> Day Four: Gold

She shouldn’t have been awake.

That must have been what brought the discovery upon her, a punishment from whatever deity existing above for her hubris. She had tempted fate by listening in on the conversation, and she would have to pay the price.

Surely that was why, of all the conversations she had to overhear, it was this one.

Barely daring to breathe, Morgaine huddled in the shadows of the hallway, carefully out of sight from the slightly ajar door. Inside the study, her parents were still talking, and she closed her eyes, willing her heartbeat to slow, straining her ears to make out the words.

“—only way to pay off the debt collectors when they come again.”

She bit her lip, scowling. Naturally, the coffers were in peril once more; heavens forbid that they avoid their costly trips to the capital for the social season, or not take out loans that they could not afford in order to purchase the newest style of carriage.

But no, she was foolish to think that Lord Jean-Laurent Delacroix could bear the shame that being seen as out of season would wrought upon his reputation.

“But Morgaine? In only a few years, she might be old enough for—”

“We don’t have a few years!” That exclamation was loud enough that she needn’t work hard to eavesdrop, and she barely resisted the urge to jump. “She’s the eldest, the most useful. Small as she is, she’ll be able to bring in the most.”

She froze, her hands turning numb as she pressed them against the wall, but she ignored it, ignored the cold pit, hard and nauseating, settling into her stomach. Surely, _surely_ she must have misheard, must have misunderstood her father’s words, because…

Because…

“‘Bring in the most?’ You cannot possibly—”

“And why can’t I?” She flinched, the harsh tone striking down harder than any slap could ever have, and she needed to move, to cover her ears and wake up from the nightmare, but she couldn’t, couldn’t do anything but stand there, as the voice continued, cold and ruthless. “Think about it. It’s the only solution we have. There are always traders of all sorts looking to make some gold.”

In the sudden, oppressive silence, she swallowed hard, feeling the lump in her throat bob with the movement, willing her eyes to remain dry. It was just a conversation. It had to be. They couldn’t… They wouldn’t…

“We know nothing about those traders.”

Mother’s voice was flat, almost too quiet for her to make out, a far cry from her usual strident tone, and in spite of herself, a frisson of fear crept up her spine.

“We know that they would pay a pretty penny for young women. That’s all we really need to know. After Arthur… What choice do we have?” A loud creaking of furniture, a rustle of fabric, and she shrunk away as a shadow passed briefly in front of the firelight flickering out. “Well, at least think about it. We have to figure something out, before we all lose everything.”

She could picture Father, bending over Mother, a hand on her shoulder, that cool, calculating gaze focused on her face, intense enough to unfreeze her muscles, to shake her from her shock. Drawing a shaking breath, she turned, barely remembering to keep silent as she stumbled toward the direction of her bedroom.

She didn’t need to stay to know what she would hear.


	5. judgment (5. Worn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Morgaine has a contentious conversation with one Duke Lyon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the inspiration for this one was that I really think Morgaine is manipulative and cunning enough to not directly show Lyon that she’s unethical, selfish, and indifferent (go big or go home, amirite). Of course, it did not actually go where I was expecting it to, but honestly, I like it even more now, and does explain something about why he still respects her, despite hating her at first.
> 
> Anything familiar was dialogue taken from the game!
> 
> Day Five: Worn

It was more curiosity than any actual interest that led her to the grand library. Just in the past few days, the duke had already exhibited a tendency to forgo both meals and sleep, stalking the books with single-minded ferocity bordering on obsession.

The fact that she found him engulfed by a pile of books even taller than he only pushed the scale further.

Silently, she stepped closer, squinting at the nearest titles. A wide collection of manuscripts, ranging in topic from obscure philosophy to history and the natural sciences, completely surrounded him, many more than any one person could read in seven month, much less seven weeks.

Perhaps that was why he seemed to take no notice of her.

Then again, that was hardly a problem.

Leaning back onto her heels, she pursued her lips, examining the man sitting before her more carefully. Of course, she had heard rumors aplenty of the taciturn Duke—while Jiyel certainly put more stock into merit and logic than Revaire, the elite were still the elite, a collection of gossipmongers regardless of the kingdom of origin—but hearsay had long since proven itself to be unreliable at best. From the glimpse she had seen of him before the Welcome Feast, which, to be fair, she rather suspected was the only time anyone other than his butler had seen him, he was self-deprecating and reserved, but she could hardly blame him for that.

No, in fact, if the quickness of his wit and the sharp intelligence in the eyes that met hers were any indication, he could be a very useful ally indeed.

She plastered a cool smile on her face, the faint curl of lips a far cry from her usual arsenal of seductive expressions. “Good evening, Duke Lyon. I had thought to question your absence at dinner tonight but I believe I understand the predicament now; I fear simply extracting yourself could prove to be more perilous for your heath than skipping meals.”

“Lady Morgaine.”

“As you see.” She dropped into a brief curtsy, though more out of reflex than any real sense of necessity, confirmed by the raised eyebrow that was her only response, and she bit back a sarcastic comment, instead shifting to settle in an empty seat. “Good evening.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Direct and to the point, then. I like it.” She let her gaze soften, just a moment, taking the sting from her words before grinning once more. “Very well. I came to find you, Your Grace.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And so you have.”

“Indeed.” When he made no effort to continue the conversation, she cleared her throat and craned her neck towards the text that once again threatened to ensnare his attention. “If I may ask, what are you reading?”

The faintest hint of a scowl crossed his expression, the momentary slip in control caught only through experience borne of necessity, and she barely resisted the urge to tense, until it faded into a thoughtful frown. “The Historian Kellem Ives’s philosophical treatise on the ethical impetus on actors of significant events to intervene versus unbiased documentation in terms of the impact on perdurable public good.”

She blinked, torn between amusement at the stimulus for the longest speech she had heard from the man and concentration at its actual meaning. “A fascinating subject, to be sure, particularly in light of our current circumstances.”

The eyes that met hers were still hooded, wary. “Perhaps, though it is less instructional than justificative.”

“Then what of your own thoughts?”

He visibly hesitated. “I… I confess I haven’t become of one mind on the matter. And you, Lady Morgaine?”

She paused, the heavy intent of his words catching her attention. There was something there, a hint of unusual gravitas considering the carelessness of their previous conversation. A test of some kind, perhaps, one she hadn’t had enough time to consider, and instead, she raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a teasing smirk. “I am usually a creature of many minds, thank you very much.”

To her disappointment, his expression didn’t change, nor did his angle of questioning. “No, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

She cleared her throat, mind racing. To be reading a treatise on the philosophy of ethics and public good, to openly discuss it with an enthusiasm that was almost incongruous to his existing reputation… She would have to approach the conversation with caution if she wanted to remain in his good graces.

Bowing her head, she schooled her features into careful solemnity. “It is a worthwhile exercise to consider. While much can be said about the virtues of inaction, just as much can be true for the benefits of action. And much can learned from either experience.” She drew a breath, willing her voice to remain steady, her face to bear no signs of derision. “Whether ‘tis nobler to sacrifice for the benefits of others, else to observe for those same’s benefit is a decision that is only left to the ethical standards of others, for better or for worse.”

The silence that followed her proclamation was almost stifling and she found herself having to look away from his keen attention, that seemed to look into her very soul itself with the intensity of its dark, unyielding gaze.

“I see.”

The ice in his words stung and she opened her mouth, but he shook his head, cutting her off before she could speak. “I comprehend perfectly, Lady Morgaine.”

“Do you?” She met his gaze, sudden heat flooding her chest at the condemnation in his voice, the judgment and mistrust, and she found herself on her feet, shaking with fury and glaring at him with liquid fire in her veins, pounding in her ears. “Do you truly, or do you only _think_ that you do, like everyone of your ilk, who only consider the theory, the simplest solution in your idealized situation? The world is neither so straightforward nor so fair as you might imagine. It is easy for one such as yourself, in your ivory tower, to judge the world around you, Your Grace, and you are perfectly welcome to despise me if you so choose, but until you have lived it, have seen what your precious sacrifice and nobility and obedience can wrought, don’t you _dare_ say that you comprehend anything.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left, letting the door the grand library slam shut with a resounding crash.


	6. approbation (6. Transient)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine visits home after her first marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand now I'm actually technically two days late. In my defense, it is HARD to write much on a grad student’s homework/work schedule. ~~Don't ask about how much homework I have this week. Ugh.~~
> 
> Anyway, uh, minor warnings for Baron Namaire being a Creeper, and also Widow's parents being Like That.
> 
> Day Six: Transient

From her seat in the carriage, Morgaine stared as the crumbling edifice of her childhood home slowly pulled into view. Once, it had been a massive palace, a maze of hallways and chambers that she could not even begin to map, with practically her entire universe contained within its walls. Once, she couldn’t have imagined a life outside of those stone confines, of leaving the scrutiny and judgment of her parents, the reliance of her younger sisters.

Once, when she had been young and naive, she had dreamt of a fairytale ending.

She knew better now.

The halt of her carriage jerked her mind from its brown study just as thoroughly as it did her body, nearly throwing her into the lap of her husband. He offered a lazy smirk and a lascivious look, hands lingering on her waist as she struggled to right herself.

“You’ll have to be a little more careful now, my pet. I don’t believe we should get _too_ carried away just outside your family’s home, though…” She repressed a shudder as a finger caressed along the bare skin of her throat and across the low neckline of her dress. “Your eagerness is noted.”

She had never before been so thankful to see her parents approaching as she was in that moment.

Clearing her throat, she sat back in her seat, folding her hands primly across her lap and ignoring the chuckle from the man across from her. She only had to wait just a few moments longer, and then…

As if on cue, the carriage door opened, and she found herself staring at the face of her father.

Lord Jean-Laurent Delacroix had not changed much in the past year. There was, perhaps, more grey in his hair, lending him a dignified air that did nothing to hide the cool calculation, the sharp discrimination in his eyes as he examined her. Even after a marriage and the year apart, she found herself awaiting his judgment with nervous anticipation, for even the slightest possibility of approval.

“Morgaine.” She silently accepted the hand offered to her, allowing him to assist her out of the carriage. “You look well.”

She cleared her throat, swallowing against a sudden wave of emotion. “Thank you, Father.”

“Morgaine!” Her mother appeared behind him, a bundle in her arms, and she stiffened, recognizing the blanket as the one that had once belonged to Arthur, that for so many years had lain untouched in his room. “You’ve made it.”

She forced a smile that felt only moderately genuine. “I did. And this is… Lance?”

Lady Ygraine beamed. “Yes he is. He’s been fussing all day, but settled right before we came out to greet you. Isn’t that wonderful? He must have known that he’d be meeting his eldest sister today. And her lord husband, of course.”

Before the woman could continue, she stepped forward, giving her newest brother a curious glance before catching her mother’s eye. “Should you be moving about so, Mother? I had assumed you would still be resting indoors. It must be far too chilly for such a young infant outside.”

“Oh, you’re right, my dear. As always. Let us return indoors, Jean. We have much to show you, Your Lordship.”

With a sigh, she let them move past her for the manor proper, rambling about changes to the decor and their latest strokes of luck, or lack thereof. The land, at least, looked unchanged, the same old oaks and spindly bushes dotting the drive that had been there for as long as she could remember. If she squinted, then maybe…

“Morgaine.”

The quiet voice shook her from her reverie and she turned, this time a true smile rising unbidden to her lips. “Emmaline.”

“Mother sent me to come fetch you. She is adamant that you have enough time to change before supper.”

She sighed again, watching as her breath floated away in the cool air. “Naturally. Not a minute can go by without someone’s input.”

“Is it so at Namaire as well?”

Her throat tightened for a moment as she studied the young face. In the past year, Emmaline had grown too, both wiser and older, far older than her ten years ought to, and she shook her head, forcing a smile. “No, in that sense, perhaps not. Much of the time, I can do as I will. It is a far different place than home. Perhaps you can come visit, when Mother and Father can spare you.”

She chuckled as her small face lit up with excitement, suddenly looking far more her age. “Oh! I would love to.”

“Very well, then. We’ll ask for permission later. Though, I suppose if we want them to be more amenable to the plan, we ought to return inside, before Mother has another one of her conniptions.”

As she followed her sister towards the entrance of her childhood home, she felt Emmaline pause, a shy smile crossing her face. “Even so, I’m glad you’re home.”

Blinking hard, she smiled, giving the thin shoulders a tight squeeze. “I am as well.”


	7. farewell (7. Exalt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine has a quiet moment to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This honestly doesn't deserve to be it's own chapter on AO3 but I have approximately a metric fuckton of homework this weekend so I’m cheating and posting something really short. :P
> 
> Day Seven: Exalt

The day dawned, bright and clear, with nary a cloud in sight. It was, no doubt, a disappointment to Mother and Father, that the world had seemed to have moved on from its grief, was no longer haunted by the loss of its—of their—golden child.

Standing beside the open window, breathing in the cool morning breeze, Morgaine had to disagree; Arthur had always been friendly and carefree, the antithesis to herself. He had been the one upon whom their parents had pinned all of their hopes and dreams for improvement, who had the potential to make something of their name. The warmth suited him far more than any amount of clouds and dreariness would have.

That was always more her purview.

“Are you ready, Lady Morgaine?”

She started, turning to find their family maid, Lucielle, waiting in the doorway, watching her with an inquisitive look. With a sigh, she pinned her veil into place, running her fingers over the dark red layers of her gown, and nodded. “Let’s go.”


	8. contest (8. Reticence)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Morgaine's take on her first dinner with Lord Clarmont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am once again now technically two days late, but I had a lot of fun writing out this first date with Clarmont properly, especially with Morgaine’s more... cynical approach to it all, so you know what? Worth it, if just to write something about her and her LI. :P
> 
> Day Eight: Reticence

When she first received the invitation from Lord Clarmont, she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. In her time at the capital of Revaire, he had always been studiously polite and certainly well-liked within court, but just quiet enough, just distant enough, with an air of melancholy and mystery to attract the attention of more than one besotted and ultimately unsuccessful noblewoman. Then again, suspecting what she did about his… affiliations, it was perhaps only a surprise that he, dashing and burdened as he was, did not hold more interest than he already did.

Which only made his request that she join him for a meal all the more baffling.

Were it anyone else, she might have suspected that he had an underlying motive, that perhaps he had figured out her intentions at the Summit and meant to do away with her before she could have a chance to reveal his secrets to the Crown. Except she knew she had been careful, had surely passed his test, such as it was, with the nervous Wellish princess. Had worked hard to win his trust.

It made a little more sense when her preoccupation led to another test in the form of the serving girl and the fallen letter. There was no doubt that, regardless of her own mental state, the collision would have occurred and the missive so _carelessly_ dropped so as for her to see its contents perfectly. Even if the idea that she could be fooled by such an obvious test was laughable, it was, in some ways, almost a relief, both that her secret had not been found out, and that her adversary, such as they were, was not entirely incompetent.

It would have made for a disappointing, if not embarrassing, show otherwise.

And yet, sitting opposite of Lord Clarmont in the small dining room, faced with his earnest expression, his brilliant smile, she was beginning to wonder whether she had underestimated the man. Inquiries and deflections fell from his lips with ease, natural and understated, and she found herself intrigued despite herself, especially at the authenticity, the simple truth that rang in every statement.

In that moment, it suddenly made sense why he was likely acting as the face of the Revairan rebellion.

The revelation and its implications were almost enough to make her visibly stiffen, and certainly enough to completely derail her thoughts. Rather, she found herself fighting the sudden urge to gasp, to give any indication on the direction of her thoughts with more difficulty than she cared to admit.

Which was, of course, exactly when he spoke again, calm yet mischievous and utterly disarming as he asked about her past.

It was not, in any sense an unexpected question and certainly a strategy that she was intimately familiar with; she knew full well that information could be obtained from any type of personal information, that knowledge about a person lay in everything from the content of a tale to the way it was presented, and as such, she had long since prepared answers to such inquiries, tales and half-truths designed to show herself in the best possible light.

And, catching the warm earnestness in those bright blue eyes, she found the words dying on her tongue.

Instead, and without any conscious thought, she found herself transported back to her childhood, back to a time before the world had fallen into pieces around her, and she couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out _how_.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of conversation and frantically racing thoughts. His story was lighthearted and innocuous enough, or at least would have been if not for the slip of tongue, and yet…

And yet, for the first time, rather than making a mental note of it, of finding a way to use the information to her advantage, she found herself wanting to distract, to comfort, to wipe the melancholy, the heaviness, from his brow, and it was _infuriating_.

As she rose to her feet with a quip at his proffered assistance, she once again found herself struggling for words against that heartstoppingly dazzling smile. As if sensing her hesitation, he bowed his head.

“Thank you very much for agreeing to have dinner with me, Lady Morgaine. I have enjoyed our time together very much.”

It was nothing more than the niceties expected of him and she knew this, knew the socially dictated lie that rolled off her tongue without hesitation, even as she curtsied, resisting the urge to send him a sharp look, to ascertain just how much subtext was hidden behind that studiously polite acknowledgement.

“No, thank you for the invitation, Lord Clarmont. I also enjoyed myself a great deal.”

Only when she stepped into the hall, his bright smile at her words still lingering in the back of her mind, did she allow herself to breathe. While it had certainly been an… experience dining with the man, and thus informative in it of itself, at least in earning his trust, it had also been, in some senses, an inefficient use of her time. She had gained little in concrete information and, considering her slip, perhaps lost more than that. On information useful for the Crown, she had nothing.

And despite it all, when she made it back to her quarters, it occurred to her that her parting statement had not been a falsehood after all.


	9. wait (9. Renown)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little glimpse of Morgaine at court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one that I am even later for. Why I thought I could write every day when I have school, I do not know lol.
> 
> Day Nine: Renown

Once, Morgaine had thought that being at court would be a relief. Far removed from the pestering and condescension of her parents, from the mix of judgmental and sympathetic eyes from the individuals around her, she ought to have more freedom, more opportunities to pursue her own interests. More chances, she hoped, to find more information about that rebellion her dearly departed husband had been so frustratingly inept at

In retrospect, she should have expected that it would not be so easy; when was _anything_ in her life ever such?

As the door to her chambers swung shut behind the departing back of her lady’s maid, she sighed, allowing herself to practically collapse onto her bed… only to wince as a hairpin dug into her scalp. Scowling, she pulled the offending implement out, shaking her head to let her hair fall in messy curls and horrible tangles down her back. Much like the state of her thoughts.

If she were to be perfectly honest, her greatest irritation was to herself. After her experiences even within the small province of Vilanchey, it should not have been a surprise that the busybodies within the capital would be equally if not more likely to gossip about her and the state of her affairs, the abrupt end of her short marriage, some outlandish enough that even she could not help but be amused.

Thankfully, said speculation only seemed to increase her reputation and prestige within the Revairan court, granting her fame and attention. Unfortunately, they also meant that she would have to plaster a fake smile to her face, to exchange social niceties and polite conversations, for hours on end, with what felt like little gain.

“Patience.” She took a deep breath, letting it out as she stared up at the canopy over her, feeling her frustrations melt away and her body relax for the first time since she had arisen in the morning.

Something would happen eventually. And she’d be there when it did.

That was all that mattered.


	10. standing guard (10. Surrender)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine starts coming to terms with her feelings for Clarmont, whatever that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the title of this entire work, the title of this chapter was taken from Eight, because it's perfect for Morgaine.
> 
> Yeah, I'm three days late. School is kicking my ass lol.
> 
> Day Ten: Surrender

When Lady Morgaine, Baroness Namaire, first arrived at the Summit, her goals were simple: to investigate the Revairan rebellion, with special attention to one Lord Clarmont, and to establish herself as indispensable towards the Revairan court. In a distant and optional third was to win an advantageous match for herself, perhaps with one of the higher ranked lords or even one of the princes, if she could manage it.

However, it seemed as though, not for the first time, fate had other plans for her.

She found herself hurrying through the halls towards her destination, barely avoiding colliding with other delegates and utterly heedless to the impropriety of her haste. It was only when she drew near the private parlor Jasper had reserved for her that she slowed, stopping outside the doorway to catch her breath before entering.

He was already waiting for her within, and she found her breath catching in her throat, though whether it was from exertion or the brilliance of the smile he directed at her, warming her through, she couldn’t be sure.

“Lady Morgaine, you made it.”

For a second, she paused, glancing past him into the room as she gathered her thoughts, as she forced her brain into some semblance of order. When she had regained control, she smiled, raising a playful eyebrow. “I had no idea the trip to the parlor was so dangerous. Thank goodness I survived!”

“Oh, I don’t think we should ever take safety in these halls for granted. And I…” For a moment, he hesitated, as if recognizing the solemnity of his tone, and his expression lightened with an almost natural smile. “I am grateful you survived your perilous journey. Who knows behind which shadowy corner Lord Blain lurks, prepared with a pie to ruin your dress.”

At his invitation, she sat, but even as he presented her with food and coaxed out details and interesting tidbits of her day, her mind raced. His words, though softened with a masterful attempt at deflection, had been truthful enough, serious enough, especially considering the multiple threats she had received in just the past three weeks, and she wondered briefly whether he knew anything.

Except no. He surely had enough on his plate, between his requirements as a delegate and everything he was no doubt doing for the rebellion, and one attempt on her life, at least, had practically been confirmed to be orchestrated by Gisette. The crown princess of the family she had been working to assist.

It should have been galling, absolutely infuriating, considering all that she had done on behalf of Revaire and her family in particular, and yet… 

And yet, somehow, watching as the man before her grinned as she recounted the conversation she overheard between Prince Lisle and Prince Hamin, she could instead feel the stress melting away, at least for a moment.

It was a strange feeling. She should have been cautious, should have spent more time soliciting information about the rebellion, maneuvering things to her own advantage, putting to use those skills she had honed through the past years, first with her husband and then at court. But instead, he asked her questions, and with a sincerity, with an openness, that drew the unfiltered truth from her, for better or for worse. He listened, heard her stories and respected her opinions. Respected her.

Trusted her.

“You are dangerous,” he said, and he didn’t know how right he was. About her. About them both.

And yet, she still couldn’t find it in herself to care.


	11. subcutaneous (11. hidden)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of what lies beneath the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna... stop making excuses now LOL. We all know I will never catch up and I will never be on time. :P
> 
> ANYWAY, this was not at all what I had originally planned, but we are apparently back to Making Morgaine’s Backstory Worse, because of who I am as a human being. Mild implied physical abuse, so be wary of that?
> 
> Also, and perhaps more heinously, horrible abuse of what’s possible in historical fashion, by which I mean I don’t know anything about it. Sorry. :P
> 
> Day Eleven: Hidden

Standing in the room that was once her childhood bedroom, Morgaine looked around. From the sounds of it, her parents had, at one point, contemplated putting it towards a new use, perhaps as the future bedroom for Lance, once he was old enough, but Emmaline, sweet, loyal, thoughtful Emmaline, had put her foot down, insisting that it be kept ready whenever she and her husband might visit.

She wondered briefly whether her sister knew just how welcome of a refuge it truly was.

Taking a deep breath, she ran her fingers over the windowsill. Nothing had changed, from the neatly made and untouched bed to the empty state of her dresser. Not even dust lingered on the surface, no doubt due to Lucielle’s careful cleaning in preparation for a visit from the great Baron Namaire himself. And yet, even as hauntingly familiar, as untouched as it all was, even if she closed her eyes, blocking out the sounds of the chatter and general commotion from outside, something was different.

 _She_ was different.

Then again, what else did she expect? In the year since she left home, life had moved on, as it always did under the inexorable march of time. Certainly, she was receiving requests to help provide funds for her siblings, lest they go without warm clothes or education, but they had Lance now, a new source of stability to gather around, to unite them. At least to Lord and Lady Delacroix, she, at the tender age of fourteen, had already played her most pivotal role for the family.

Blinking quickly, she drew a deep breath, letting it out in a slow, sibilant hiss which cut off abruptly as familiar footsteps, heavy and purposeful, shuffled through the hallway. For one heartstopping eternity, they paused outside her door, and she froze, could scarcely breathe, before they continued onward and she could move again.

Swiftly, she crossed the room to her armoire where the small selection of gowns she had brought had been hung. Running her fingers over the array of rich colors and expensive materials, she hesitated, hand coming to a rest over familiar green linen, an old cheap favorite that her mother insisted she leave behind when she left, far from the eyes of her husband and new servants. Simple and practical, with the added benefit of being manageable without the assistance of a maid, only the thought of her parents’ sharp disapproval prevented her from drawing it out.

Instead, she selected a gown at random from her collection, nearly tossing it onto the bed in her haste. Years of experience had taught her tricks to undressing herself, and she moved rapidly, ear turned towards the door for any signs of approaching footsteps.

It was only when she was dressed again, fingers done fumbling with the buttons, that she dared pause. Random though it was, her selection was a fortuitous one. The deep blue fabric, though flattering, was also thick and fine, fitting from her shoulders to her wrists, covering the bruises that dotted her arms, the remnants of fingerprints left along her skin. The visible manifestations of her choice, her desperation, buried deep beneath the surface.

Shaking herself, she straightened, stepping toward the mirror with a discerning eye. Beneath the subtle padding and careful design, she looked older, almost mature enough to pass as an adult. A thick string of creamy pearls, a wedding gift from her husband, lay on her collar, cool and heavy against her bare skin, matching the ring on her finger. At once a key to freedom and a collar.

“My lady? Lady Ygraine is requesting you.”

She barely resisted the urge to jump, instead turning towards the doorway, and nodded, deliberately, imperiously, towards the young girl standing, half in the shadows, as she had done once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, and she cleared her throat.

“I’ll be right there.”

After all, what other choice did she have?


	12. arrival (12. Temperate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Morgaine has some company as she watches her approach to Vail Isle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit stumped on this one, before I remembered the climate of Vail Isle, and then of course Clarmont had to interrupt and actually have some dialogue. Damn my shipper self LOL.
> 
> Day Twelve: Temperate

For all of her plotting and scheming, for all the time and energy she spent making her case and winning the approval of the royal family, it was a very different thing to be actually on her way to the Seven Kingdoms Summit. Especially for a young widow from the most backwater county in all of Revaire, who had, until that point, never traveled farther than to the capital, the trip, complete with conniving fellow delegates and several bouts of seasickness, was an experience that she would be perfectly happy to never repeat again.

Standing at the bow of the ship, Morgaine squinted out across the water. The seas had calmed since the night before, gently rolling waves and a warm, steady breeze propelling them along at a rapid pace. Even so, she could hardly wait to be free from the confines of the ship, to set about furthering her goals and investigations, the responsibilities, so to speak, that she had not the opportunity to pursue while in such close quarters with half a dozen delegates that she didn’t trust as far as she could throw.

“Anything in sight?”

The voice, light and cheerful, caught her off-guard and she turned on instinct, stiffening as she recognized the bright hair and lithe build of the man who had, at some point, appeared beside her.

“Lord Clarmont.”

As if noticing the surprise in her gaze, he offered a warm smile. “Good day, Lady Morgaine. I hear from the captain that Vail Isle should be visible any moment now. I suspect you are as eager as I am for the first glimpse of the place that will decide the future for both ourselves and the kingdoms as a whole.”

She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Perhaps less so that than the need for some fresh air, as well as some semblance of peace. Our fellows are not always the most… serene, even in the best of times. Present company excluded, of course.”

His chuckle was quiet, tinged with some strange emotion, though the sound was carried away by the swift wind before she could attempt to identify it. “Indeed, though I fear that would be a rare trait to find in Revaire.”

She opened her mouth, though before she could think of what to say, her eye caught the view on the horizon and her jaw dropped.

Seemingly emerging from nowhere, Vail isle was a far cry from the simple land of her imagination. Soft green grass covered the ground, adorned with flowers of all hues and emerald trees. Rising from the blanket of green was a sturdy plateau, upon which rested a breathtaking palace of stone and glass. Even from the distance, it seemed to shine in the midday sun, a bastion of warmth and welcome.

“Beautiful.” The soft voice drifting over her shoulder was full of awe and wonder, and she couldn’t help but agree; for a moment, for one shining, impossible second, even she found herself believing in the magic of the island.

“Look!” The loud screech from behind her shattered the illusion, and she stiffened as Lady Veronique rushed up to the railing, nearly knocking her arm out of the way. “The isle! We’re almost there! Oh, it’s so lovely I can scarcely believe my eyes!”

Biting back a retort with some difficulty, she instead plastered a smile to her face. “Indeed. If you’ll excuse me?”

The woman hardly seemed to notice, but Lord Clarmont reached out a hand and she paused, giving him a questioning look. “Yes, my lord?”

“I don’t suppose you wish to stay.”

“With everyone here?” She chuckled. “I expect I will have spent more than enough time in such company by the end of the Summit as it is. Besides, as you said, with our arrival so close at hand, we have our futures to prepare for.”

Her voice was lighthearted, but when no response was forthcoming, she raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I—” He shook his head, the serious expression on his face morphing back into a polite smile. “Nothing, my lady. I apologize for my wandering thoughts. I suppose I will see you at the banquet, then. It should be an interesting seven weeks.”

She gave a small smile and a curtsy, though before she descended the stairs below deck, she couldn’t help but turn and give the island, and her conversational partner another glance.

It would be an interesting seven weeks, indeed. Of that, she had no doubt.


	13. truth will out (13. Rehearse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine comes to a decision about how to move forward in her relationship with Lord Clarmont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly building to that conversation that I probably won’t fully touch on until early release because I don’t want to get Jossed too badly lol. But it is fun to consider just how horribly that conversation could go. :D
> 
> Look, I imagine Morgaine has a reason to be worried, but also Clarmont is a sweetheart, so who knows. It might not be toooo bad. :P

They needed to talk.

It had been Clarmont’s suggestion, a quiet promise after the adrenaline and anger and _fear_ that had gripped them both. Any conversation then would not have ended well, she knew that just as well as he did, not in the middle of the night, with minimal supervision, when there had already been one threat on her life.

One that, had it not been for her own quick thinking, might have been the undoing of her, a fact that seemed to have been hammered home, if the look on Clarmont’s face when he found her was any indication. If the look on his face as he left her was any indication.

It certainly would not leave her mind, the dark, pained gaze of a man haunted by hypotheticals now made plausible replaying on an endless loop every time she closed her eyes, too keyed up to sleep and instead huddled against the window of her quarters as she waited for dawn’s arrival.

Then again, if she were to be completely honest with herself, it was a conversation that had been a long time in the making, one that she needed to have, just as well as he. Secrets that she needed to share, just as he. That she had been building towards, ever since her last meeting with the Matchmaker, what felt like a lifetime ago.

And considering the most recent attempt on her life, perhaps it was.

Sighing, she pulled the blanket tighter across her shoulders, though it did nothing to stave off the chill that had settled in her bones, sending a shiver up her spine. It was beginning to become clear that they both had secrets to reveal, chief among hers being that she knew his, and more importantly, that he deserved to know. Or, maybe it had always been clear, were she brave enough to face the truth.

Then again, if she had enough courage to do so, maybe she wouldn’t have been curled up against her windowsill in the first place, trying to figure out what she could even say to him about the truth. Trying to figure out whether speaking up would ruin her one chance at happiness.

Trying to figure out whether it would be worth it, in the end.

Groaning, she buried her face in her hands, though whether it was an act of frustration or a futile attempt to cut off her oxygen supply until she could lose consciousness for a few hours, not even she was sure.

It was a strange thing. Put her in front of a crowd, in front of anyone from the lowest servant to the King and Queen of Revaire, in front of representatives from all seven kingdoms and a jury to boot, and she had no difficulties arguing for whatever it was she needed, could wheedle and charm and influence affairs with impunity.

But faced with Clarmont, who had, as far as she could tell, not seen through any of her half-truths or prevarications, who would, in many circumstances, be the easier task to convince, to string along… Faced with Clarmont, she was helpless.

In the end, if she wanted any sort of reality in the future, any sort of stability or trust, she could only tell him the truth.

And for him, she would try.


	14. secrets (14. Significant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine happens to overhear something very interesting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one today, but it took me a while to settle on proper inspiration. Somehow, I’m starting to run low on steam for Morgaine. Or maybe I just need to figure out another angle to approach these...
> 
> (Also, insert usual excuse about school here.)
> 
> Day Fourteen: Significant

While Morgaine knew full well that the main reason she had so worked to attend the Summit was to gain a better understanding of the Revairan rebellion, that didn’t mean she was actually expecting to discover much. After all, with the Revairan Crown Prince and Princess in attendance, it would have been foolish for anyone scheming against the current rulers to give any indication in the open.

To their credit, at the very least, it was not entirely in the open. The kitchens, though not entirely off-limits to the delegates, were rarely visited, if only due to the lack of consideration the delegates, young ladies and gentlemen from the upper echelons of their respective kingdoms, afforded their servants. In that sense, they would have been safe from all but the most diligent potential eavesdroppers.

Unfortunately for them, she was one such.

Then again, if she were to be perfectly honest, it was also incredible chance on her part, that she happened to be walking by and be enticed by the rich scent of freshly baked bread. That she had happened to be out of sight but still within earshot of the conversing pair.

It was not much of a conversation, to be certain, and she suspected she would have ignored it entirely as idle gossip if she had not recognized the voices, and one in particular as the man she had spent her evening just one day prior… and the same man she had come to the Summit to investigate. But recognize them she did, which meant…

Brushing the remaining crumbs off her hands, she rose and, thanking the cook again for the food, she turned on her heel and retreated back to her quarters. If even that sliver of conversation was any indication, things were farther along than even she had suspected.

She had work to do.


	15. romanticism (15. List)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine's thoughts after the Matchmaker's banquet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another really short one, mostly because, again, I had no idea what to write for today. Luckily, I suddenly remembered the options at the end of week 3 to either make a list of what to do, or think about a special someone, and so here we are lol. Because Morgaine is secretly a hopeless romantic (she can actually play as Serah!)
> 
> Day Fifteen: List

Whether it was the Isle itself or an artifact of the endless events, Morgaine couldn’t be sure, but time seemed to move differently at the Summit.

It seemed as though just moments ago, she were still at the Matchmaker’s banquet, under the scrutiny from what felt like the entire room as she moved from person to person, greeting those other delegates that she had come to familiarize herself with, in the past few weeks. Watching and analyzing and thinking.

Then again, if she were to be perfectly honest, she would have been too, were it not her.

She sighed, rolling over to face away from the window, where faint moonlight was filtering in through the curtains. It had already climbed higher in the sky than she’d realized, an indication of the late hour. And still her mind whirled, thoughts chasing each other in an endless cycle of concerns.

Regardless of the matchmaker’s approval of her match, or perhaps in light of it, there was still much to be done. While she may have obtained some information about the rebels, one overheard conversation and the unsubtle theorizing of the crown prince and princess were hardly anything in the grand scheme of things.

They certainly weren’t enough to make up her mind about the whole situation, particularly considering her new approved match’s potential role in the entire affair.

And her match was a whole other issue in it of itself. The scenario certainly had not been in her plans, nor any of her predictions of what might have happened. She had expected some amount of chaos, perhaps even an attempted murder or two—at the very least, it would not have been entirely out of the ordinary at the Revairan court—but an approved match, made without even her own consideration…

Her moment of weakness, of concession to the idealistic young girl she had once been, so many years ago, had raised the stakes even higher. It—they—complicated everything, for both of them.

And yet, as she remembered his smile, the warmth of his gaze as they spoke, she couldn’t quite find it in herself to care.


	16. pursuit (16. Opportunity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine has more than one reason to attend the Seven Kingdoms Summit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I am once again late. In my defense, it is going to be finals’ week, so it’ll be a miracle if I finish anything on time for the rest of this week. :P This is also why you’ll note everything getting shorter and shorter. Pretty soon I’ll be writing OG drabbles, not for the challenge but because that’s all I’ve got left in me lol.
> 
> Day Sixteen: Opportunity

Until she arrived in the capital, she hadn’t thought much of the Seven Kingdoms Summit; stuck as she was in the countryside, shackled first to the weight of her own family and later to Baron Namaire, it had never been a possibility.

Or, at least, not until she took matters into her own hands, freeing herself and earning the attention of the Crown, that she first heard the whispers. That it was taken as a matter of course that Prince Jarrod and Princess Gisette would lead the delegation, that the rest of the members had yet to have been selected.

That one Lord Clarmont was rumored to vying for a position.

Normally, the news wouldn’t have made much of an impact on her. If true, Lord Clarmont wouldn’t have been the first lord to look for a foreign bride, particularly considering his own history within the tumultuous past decades within Revaire. To attend at all was an honor, an opportunity to make an impact on a global scale, and were he any other man, that would have been that. Except…

Except her own investigations had informed her that he was anything but any other man. In the scraps of information she had gleaned, from both her former husband’s work as well as her own probing, his name had been one of the most reliably mentioned. And if he were working so hard to earn a spot in the Summit delegation…

Well, then, she would have to do the same. 


	17. justice (17. Recant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Morgaine has some decisions to make about the next day's trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I’ve ever explicitly gone into the details of how Morgaine changes throughout the course of the game, but she definitely goes from selfish, immoral, and indifferent to something quite different at the end of week 5. I’m very proud of her progress, and I imagine the trial was one of the bigger moments in her transition. Hence this was born.
> 
> Day Seventeen: Recant

The castle must already have been asleep.

Morgaine stood, feeling her neck and back protest the sudden movement, and stepped to the window to look outside. The sun had long since set, and even the lights from the other windows had gone out as the other delegates retired. Even the resident bookworm no doubt had collapsed, considering the exhausted state he appeared to be in when he appeared at her door that morning, an entirely unexpected outcome considering the way he studious avoided her ever since she found him in the library, was that only three weeks earlier?

She shook her head, shaking the thoughts of the surprisingly conscientious duke from her mind, and instead let her eyes wander, from the dark night outside of her window to the slowly dying flames in the fireplace, to the notes and papers scattered upon her desk. Notes and papers and one letter.

Crossing the room in quick steps, she pulled it out, unfolding it carefully. The handwriting wasn’t recognizable, but it didn’t need to be; even without the tell of who write the missive, the results of her investigation made it clear enough who was responsible for the contents, even if there was no way of tracing it back.

Princess Gisette, the same woman whose family she had been trying so diligently to serve.

She pressed her lips together tightly, fingers drumming against the wood of her desk. Once and not even so long ago, she knew she would have taken it without a second thought, even if she hadn’t deduced who the source was. Once, she had been in a position where she could not afford to turn down an offer due to morals, was willing to do whatever it took to make friends in high places. And she had already done so much for the Crown that one little servant girl being found guilty would hardly make a dent on the deluge of sins that could have been laid at her feet.

Except…

Except, in another life, she could very well have been Imogen. Even in the current one, she very nearly was, a young, helpless girl born to a family with a mediocre at best sense of responsibility and, more importantly, a pile of debts that they could not repay. She, still a noble in name, at least, had escaped through marriage, while Imogen… Imogen had been jostled around, thrust from one life to another without any care for what she wanted, living a life at the mercy of the more powerful around her.

Now, literally.

Then there was the matter of Princess Gisette’s own choices. She had long since suspected that the crown princess was the mastermind behind her near death during the mounted tour of the isle. That she would so brazenly attempt to offer a bribe, or even that someone else would offer it on her behalf, would have been comical were it not so galling.

Not to mention the matter of what her champion of the weak and unrepresented might think of the matter…

No, Princess Gisette had done nothing to deserve her loyalty or her support. And, after the past few weeks, she would have neither.

Nodding to herself, Morgaine grabbed the letter, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the smoldering embers of the fire. It dropped with a puff of smoke and ash and seemed to teeter for just a moment, caught on the edge of falling back out, but instead caught alight with a small burst of flames.

That was one matter taken care of.

It was a strange thing. She might have expected a bitter swell of regret, a delayed sense of revulsion for the waste, for the all that she had turned down in return for someone who, most likely, could not offer her anything in return, and yet…

Her steps as she moved back to her seat felt lighter, more determined than ever. Picking up her quill with newfound energy, she turned back to her notes before her, determinedly not thinking about the rich blue eyes and warm smile that certainly played no part in her decision.


	18. change (18. Passage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes change comes suddenly to the household of Baron Namaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m kind of stretching the definition of passage for this one--my brain went passage -> heart troubles -> Baron Namaire’s death, but I’m already late and it’s finals week and I’m not gonna try hard for anything fancy at this point lol. Warning for character death, though I can’t honestly say it’s much of a loss.
> 
> Day Eighteen: Passage

It was one of the newest maids, a young thing almost her own age whose first job was to light the fires, who found Baron Namaire in the morning, cold and unresponsive in the his bed. The girl’s resulting shriek was enough to rouse the entire household from its beds, all drawing around the room in a crowd, though it parted effortlessly for her when she stepped foot into her husband’s bedchambers.

He was, without a doubt, long beyond hope. A quick examination was enough to provide evidence for that, even before the arrival of any doctor; his limbs were stiff, body frozen in some grotesque spasm, and she could hardly bring herself to look at the corpse.

Perhaps fortunately, she found herself much too overwhelmed to do such a thing; the physician and mortician had to be notified, a lawyer contacted for the purposes of addressing inheritance, and the most hysterical of the servants comforted to the best of her limited abilities.

While she had always elected to ignore her servants rather than verbally abuse them, unlike her dearly departed husband, until then, she had never understood the value of a steady and competent housekeeper. The woman took control without a word, nudging everyone back to work, sending the butler for the physician, and generally exuding a calm and stability that a better man than Baron Namaire would have been ashamed to have inspired.

As it was, she could only decide for herself whether the sob she heard from the servant girl clinging to the housekeeper was one of horror or relief.


	19. growth (19. Flourish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine catches a moment between two friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I wouldn’t be able to finish this one tonight because I spent most of the day studying for a final exam tomorrow, but I managed to get almost 400 words and eh, good enough.
> 
> Day Nineteen: Flourish

The sun beat down on her as she made her way down the dirt path, feet following the now instinctual path out of the castle towards the gardens. After the days spent indoors, rehearsing for the play or continuing her personal investigations, it was almost too bright, but she couldn’t help but relish in it, taking a deep breath of the fresh air and squinting ahead towards the tall hedges.

The soft chorus of voices caught her by surprise and she halted immediately; after the arguing and frustration of the past rehearsals, interacting with any of her fellow delegates was one of the last things she wanted. Particularly if it were any of the more… forthcoming individuals that she had had the misfortune of trying to wrangle.

Breathing slowly, she moved with light feet closer to the pair, and felt her body relaxing as she placed the speakers: Princess Penelope and Earl Emmett. While the earl was perhaps more talkative and outgoing than she was accustomed to, he gave off the impression of a golden retriever puppy than anything else, all sweet enthusiasm and good-natured friendliness without a mean bone in his body. And Princess Penelope…

She cocked her head, listening as the princess replied to the rambling speech, cheerful and with none of her usual hesitance. It was a far cry from the shy girl she had met before the Welcome Feast, all big eyes and nervous smiles whenever anyone caught her eye, who had cowered before Prince Jarrod until she had interfered on the princess’ behalf.

No, this Penelope, though still soft-spoken, was confident and poised, with a hint of girlish vivacity that only served to increase her charm, and Morgaine bit back a quiet chuckle, feeling her lips curl into the faintest hint of a smile in spite of her best efforts to the contrary. Penelope had said over their most recent tea that she had no real interest in marriage yet, was only looking to attend the summit in order to learn and grow, but she had a sneaking suspicion that were she not careful, the princess could soon find herself beset with attention from the multitude of suitors she had inadvertently charmed along the way.

Shaking her head, she turned and made her way back indoors, though with a new lightness of spirit that not even she could explain.


	20. eclipse (20. Totality)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine has some musings about fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A literal drabble (in the OG sense of 100 words) because my brain is Not Having It today after my exam lol. Also because I don’t know why I came up with a prompt like “totality” but oh well. Also, because it’s probably not at all clear, there was an eclipse the day Morgaine killed her husband.
> 
> Day Twenty: Totality

She had never been one to believe in fate.

After all, to do so, in some ways, would have been both a resignation and an insult, an acceptance that she could have been so unlucky as to have been ordained such a challenging life. To do so would have meant that each struggle, each heartache and responsibility, had been intended for her from the beginning, that her only recourse was to bear it and keep moving forward.

And she was not one for submission. Not again.

Never again.

Instead, under the darkness of the shrouded sun, she set to work.


	21. contrast (21. Opulent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three different places Morgaine has visited, and her impressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how I thought to myself “Oh, I should do something simple for opulent since I have an exam I want to take tomorrow” and instead ended up with like three scenes. It’s fine. We’re FINE. The exam is open notes anyway.
> 
> At last, my ability to actually incorporate dialogue has returned from the war, even if my ability to write things quickly and finish on time did not.
> 
> Day Twenty One: Opulent

The journey to arrive at her new home took more than a few hours but despite all of the activity of the day, she could not find herself able to doze off. It was of no fault of the carriage, richly decorated for both appearance and comfort, such as she could barely feel the bumps along the roads they traversed, but try as she might, she remained stubbornly awake.

Whether it was the fault of her situation or the heavy, elaborate gown she had been dressed in for the ceremony, not even she could be sure.

Her new husband, thankfully, had no such qualms; he had fallen asleep not long after the first hour of their journey, leaving her blessedly alone with only her own thoughts for company. Just as she liked it.

Still, it was almost a relief when they turned off the main roads in favor of passing through a thickly wooded path. She sat up, barely noticing when her husband blinked awake and offered her a smile that was as salacious as it was unctuous. Instead, when they turned a corner and the grounds of her new home came into view, she turned to face the window, hands fisted into her lap as she stared.

While the estate of her childhood had been a castle of crumbling stone and musty corridors, of lands that had long since been bled dry of wealth, the barony before her was bright and plentiful. Fields, golden and luscious, stretched as far as she could see, a wealth of treasure that was almost extravagant in its abundance. Birds and small creatures darted through the trees. A stately mansion overlooked it all, all white stone and majestic stature, sitting with impeccable form, the trophy upon an already unspeakable richness.

And she was now mistress of it all. The thought was enough to bring a smile to her lips as Baron Namaire helped her from the carriage, his eyes sweeping over her form, as he led her through the rooms, hands lingering just too long against her bare skin. As he commanded her time for the night, to do that which was expected of his new bride.

It was all worth it.

It had to be.

* * *

After her transition from the genteel poverty of her childhood to the wealth of her husband’s estate, Morgaine had thought that she had been prepared for her arrival at court.

She was wrong.

Picking her way through the crowd, she slowly traversed through the room, keeping an eye out for any familiar faces. Around her, young lords and ladies wheedled away their time, with hardly a care in the world, and no doubt blissfully ignorant of the whispers that threatened their very livelihoods. She was almost envious of that level of unawareness, caring only for the daily gossip and the most recent fashion. It would certainly have been a simpler life than the one she had carved for herself.

Then again, she would not even recognize the woman she’d have been had she been afforded such luxury.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced about her surroundings. When she had first arrived, the parlors and ballrooms within the royal palace had seemed almost comically large, an astronomical waste of space for the more intimate gatherings held within that could have been put towards better use, or so she had thought. But still, she had plastered a smile to her face, meeting with the other young lords and ladies, the wealthy sons and daughters of ruling nobles, learning of their circumstances and interests, beliefs and ignorances.

Despite the famed fickleness of the wealthy, gaining the trust of the Revairan elite had turned out to be simply a matter of a listening ear and a well-placed falsehood, an almost disappointingly simple challenge compared to the tasks of investigating the whispers of rebellion. And so she had climbed, rising in the ranks until she found herself invited to the upper echelons of court, winning the adulations of many and, more prestigiously, an invitation to a ball held in the royal prince and princess’ honor.

For one of her aspirations, it would have been societal suicide to turn down the offer. Between the whispers about the potential delegates for the Seven Kingdoms Summit and the opportunity to discover more about her fellow noblemen, it was hardly an imposition.

A flash of tanned skin and dark red caught her attention, a now familiar figure after her repeated investigations into the rebellion’s active members, and the slightest hint of a predatory smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth before she set off across the room in pursuit.

Besides, the general foolishness of those around her only made those who had some level of competency all the more interesting.

* * *

It was strange to be back on Revairan soil.

When she had first accepted the invitation to attend the Summit, it was with the knowledge that her goals were first to identify more information about the rebellion, second to earn reputation and respect from the royal family, and third to find an advantageous match for herself, preferably one that allowed her to leave the reach of a land that seemed to care even less for her than she did for it.

She certainly had not anticipated returning in the arms of the very man she had gone to shadow, one who watched her with a mix of soft affection and nervous anticipation. Tilting her head up to meet his gaze more fully, she raised a single eyebrow.

“What is it?”

She laughed, settling more comfortably against him and reaching a lazy hand up to brush a strand of hair away from his eyes. “What’s on your mind? And don’t try to deny it.”

He made a face, even as his chest rumbled with the strength of his chuckle. “Am I truly so obvious?”

“Only to me.” The retort was easy, familiar, and she let her eyes flutter shut as he leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead, though she opened them the next second when he pulled away. “Do not think such shoddy attempts at misdirection can get you out of answering my question, though.”

“It’s nothing.” When she only stared at him, he coughed, the faintest hint of a flush crossing his face. “Nothing serious, at least.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find that only intrigues me more, not less, my lord.”

He shook his head, though the fond exasperation in his eyes only served to warm her heart. “I suppose I should have been expecting that. I promise it’s only the pointless concerns of a besotted fool.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, he stiffened, sitting upright so abruptly that his chin collided with her forehead. Wincing, she pressed a hand to her forehead but said nothing as she followed his gaze out the window.

Before her, the land seemed to almost rise to meet her gaze. Rolling hills dotted with flowers, small fields, and a brightly emerald woods stretched out across the land, almost dwarfing the manor itself. As the carriage drove past, faces turned towards them, open and cheerful at the return of their master. One bright, discerning eye caught hers with a wink before a splitting wolf whistle echoed through the air, and she nearly choked on her laughter at the mortification that suffused Clarmont’s face.

His cheeks were still somewhat red as he helped her out of the carriage, eyes roaming over her features with endearing hesitance. “It’s not much compared to the capital, or even your former barony, but…”

“Hush.” She stretched upward, cutting him off with a quick kiss. “It’s perfect.”

A grin blossomed across his face, warm and contagious, as he bowed over her hand. “Well, in that case, welcome home.”


	22. antagonize (22. Survival)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine reacts to the most recent attempt on her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we return back to short things, because sometimes inspiration is a bitch lol. At least I managed something longish yesterday. Also, I guess someday, I’m gonna have reactions to the balcony for every one of my MCs written lol.
> 
> Day Twenty Two: Survival

As deafening silence fell back over the stage, Morgaine took a deep breath, staring at the spot she had just been standing. The spot that had suddenly buried by a pile of wood and stone, one she would not have survived if she’d been even a second slower. Coupled with the note in her room, it couldn’t have been an accident. Which meant that someone was trying to kill her. Again.

Then again, perhaps she should not have been surprised.

Throughout the past few weeks, it had been made clear enough to her that there were more than a few forces at work on Vail Isle, all with their own interests and goals. Between the rebellion, Princess Gisette’s inexplicable vendetta against herself, and her own personal blackmailer, it wasn’t entirely unexpected that something would have been able to slip through the cracks of her awareness, not when she was already stretched close to the breaking point only five weeks in.

Clearly, whatever Princess Katyia’s original, idealistic ambitions for the summit she created had been, they had long since been replaced by political maneuverings and backstabbing, all for personal advantage.

Not that she could truly blame them.

Letting her breath out in a long sigh that was only somewhat shaky, she straightened, glancing through the gloom. The room was still, barely lit by the faint moonlight, and she half-expected a shadowy figure to leap out at her while she was still distracted, to finish the job that the fallen balcony had started.

But no, the only person rushing up to her was…

“Clarmont.”

The name had barely left her lips before she found herself engulfed in his arms, his heartbeat a pounding staccato in her ear, spurred on by the note he found in his own room. Which meant that she had not been the only target of the attack.

Grimly, she pressed her lips together, even as she bid her intended farewell and followed Jasper back to her room. Whoever had been aiming for her, they had made their fatal mistake. An attack on her was one matter, but to get Clarmont involved?

She would make them pay dearly for it.


	23. performance (23. Costume)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the world's a stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, but I got distracted doing homework again. Go figure. Also, I have no idea where this sudden metaphor came from but sure, I’ll take it lol.
> 
> Day Twenty Three: Costume

The guests were waiting for her.

Logically, she knew this, knew that if she delayed any longer, she would be holding the entire ceremony up, but even so, she couldn’t quite find it in herself to care. Instead, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, sweeping her eyes over her deep crimson gown, newly purchased for the occasion, over her elaborately styled hair, carefully pinned under the careful direction of her most loyal maid. Over the pale, wan face that gazed steadily back at her, at once familiar and yet, in that moment, so very foreign.

The face of a woman, and a new widow.

Taking a deep breath, she brushed a hand against her throat, against the string of pearls that rested on her collarbone, each ivory bead perfectly even and beautiful, concealing the faint bruising underneath. Her first gift from her once-husband, alongside her last.

“Baroness?”

On instinct, she turned, stiffening until she sat ramrod straight, only to relax as her maid stepped into the room, something soft and very akin to sympathy in her eyes, enough to make her look away, her throat tightening ever so slightly.

“Everyone is waiting for you, my lady.”

She nodded, swallowing as she rose to her feet. “I…”

In spite of her best efforts, her words died on her lips, but the girl only nodded and her voice was very soft. “You’ve waited these many months, haven’t you? They can wait a little longer.”

When she looked up, it was to find a wry smile without a hint of regret. “It is hardly a great secret, my lady, not to the ones behind the stage.” Careful hands pinned the veil to her hair, draping the cloth carefully over her face before beckoning her forward. “But for now, your audience awaits your encore.”


	24. philia (24. Impress)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Morgaine's last afternoons without the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so glad I finally convinced myself to write something featuring Arthur, because he’s a very interesting character who, so far, has only featured in what his loss did to his family. (As an aside: It's now making me feel a little bit more guilty about killing him off.) Also whaaaat? Actual dialogue? Madness!
> 
> Day Twenty Four: Impress

“Come on!”

Staring at the hand reaching for her, Morgaine hesitated. She was supposed to stay in the room, to study her letters and watch out for Emmaline. She knew that, knew that if Mother or Father found her shirking her duties, she would be in so much trouble. As if to emphasize that thought, a creak echoed through the room as Father’s heavy footsteps strode through his office and, on instinct, she glanced at her sister, still fast asleep in her bed.

“But…”

“Don’t worry. Lucielle can watch after her for a little while, and Mother is resting upstairs.” A pause, during which time the pacing paused before resuming once more. “Hurry!”

She really shouldn’t and she knew it. But Arthur had snuck into the room to see her, with that confident, bright grin that said he had some secret, some special activity for just the two of them, and in spite of herself, she smiled, taking his hand.

“Attagirl.” He winked at her, dragging a giggle out of her chest, and tiptoed with exaggerated care to the door. “Now, just follow me, and don’t make a noise.”

Silently, she nodded, following his footsteps as he wove his way through the hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboards and unstable steps with all the ease and finesse of a master thief. She imitated him with little mishap, taking care to place her feet exactly where his fell, save for those extra steps she took for each of his.

In the entryway, he paused, nodding with approval and a hint of something very resembling jealousy, except it was preposterous to even consider that Arthur could ever find something in her to be envious of. “You’re a natural.”

She grinned at him as he led her outside, down the crumbling path towards the old gnarled oak, one of the few trees still able to bear leaves. It wasn’t until they had settled, she perched on one of the roots sticking out of the ground and he on the lowest branch hanging overhead, that she turned back to him.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, why this all of a sudden?”

He shrugged. “I guess I wanted to get out, and figured you might as well.” His leg kicked aimlessly through the air, whizzing just over her head in that perfectly calculated way. “Autumn’s almost here, you know.”

“Yes, I do know how seasons work.” She wrinkled her nose at him as he chuckled, reaching down to rustle her hair.

For a second, she listened to the breeze rustle the leaves around her before she tilted her head back up, catching his gaze. “When do you leave?”

The sigh that drifted back to her was low, heavy. “Tomorrow.”

“Mother said it would be a good opportunity for you.”

“I know.” His foot drummed against the tree trunk hard enough to knock off a piece of bark, and she picked it up, running her fingers over the rough wood.

“It’ll be strange to be here without you.”

At that, he chuckled, ruffling her hair again. “Strange or nice? You’ll be the oldest, then. You get to decide what happens from here on out.” He winked at her. “Whatever blame you want to pin on Emmaline.”

“As if Father would ever believe any of it.”

He laughed. “No, not after I spent the last few years ruining your reputation. But better you than me, I suppose.”

“As if Mother and Father could ever find you lacking.” She shook her head, but she knew just as well as he that it was a simple matter of fact.

For another long moment, silence reigned, and then he dropped back down to her side, brushing his hands off before offering one to her once more.

“We should get back before someone notices we’re gone.”

“I guess…” She accepted it with a small smile, letting him pull her to her feet before following him back indoors, though she caught his hand before he could disappear back to his room to finish packing.

“What is it?”

She bit her lip, looking him over, the bright eyes and brighter smile, and wondered what she would see the next time he came home. “I’ll miss you.”

“Awww.” He mussed her hair, laughing as she tried and failed to duck out of the way. “I’ll miss you too. But I’ll be back.”

“Promise?” It was a foolish question and she knew it, but he didn’t say anything, instead just smiling and wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a quick, rough hug.

“Promise.”


	25. successor (25. Berate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories on the first snowfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m now over another day late, whoops. I blame school and homework taking longer than expected lol. Which means it feels slightly less like I’m writing this as a continuation/mirror of the last one, which I didn’t even think about when I first came up with this idea, but I do like it! I was gonna write more about her parents finding out to actually link to “berate” but ehhhhhh.
> 
> Day Twenty Five: Berate

“Morgaine?”

Blinking to clear the fog from her eyes, she looked up, the tension in her shoulders dissipating as she recognized the voice. “Emmaline.” She raised an eyebrow, even as her lips curled into a subconscious smile. “You shouldn’t be here right now. Shouldn’t you be practicing your embroidery?”

“I know.” It was a simple statement, though there was more challenge than remorse in the quiet voice and she found herself restraining a chuckle with some difficulty.

“All right, all right. I get it.” She shook her head, putting down her book with an exaggerated sigh. “What is it, then?”

Bright blue eyes sparkled as Emmaline stepped further into the room, practically dancing in her enthusiasm. “Come, come! Look outside!”

Fully laughing as a small hand grabbed hers, practically tugging her to her feet with that full-bodied strength of a seven year old, she obliged, standing and moving to the window, only to stop, mouth agape.

Emmaline was still dancing about, chanting something, but she could hardly hear it, could barely feel the rhythmic swinging over her hand as she stared outside. The grounds, always so dreary and barren once winter fell, had been completely transformed as a pale dusting of white drifted from the grey sky. Already, the trees were speckled, dark brown branches coated with a thin layer of…

“Snow!” Her gaze snapped back to the room as Emmaline resumed tugging on her hand, eyes full of wonder. “Can we go outside? Please? _Please?_ ”

There were a thousand reasons why she ought to refuse. Mother and Father would surely disapprove of such frivolity, particularly in light of the past few years. Their clothing, old and worn after years of reuse and careful mending, was threadbare and wholly insufficient for the cold temperatures. She was the eldest, was supposed to be the responsible one, the voice of reason.

And yet…

She glanced towards her armoire and the small portrait hidden within. In the past two years, her parents had seen fit to recall their son as their golden child, solid and dedicated and the key to their success, lost in a tragic accident beyond anybody’s control, and much of the art left of him about the manor had been chosen to reflect the image, but she had managed to salvage the one before the rest were sealed out of reach. While his pose was as solemn and dignified as to be expected from the scion of a noble house, there was a brightness, a mischief, to his gaze that made it a far more accurate representation than anything that remained.

And in that moment, she could almost see his gaze reflected in her sister’s.

Swallowing once, hard, she nodded, holding a finger to her lips. “Very well. Let’s go.”


	26. gamble (26. Risk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine has being summoned, and she will be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep trying to avoid making stuff up about anything post week 5 because I’m almost definitely going to get proven wrong, but this was the only thing I could think of for the prompt so here we are. I have no idea if this will even happen, but Morgaine _is_ joining the rebellion or so help her god.
> 
> Day Twenty Six: Risk

If Morgaine were to be perfectly honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely surprised to receive a summons from Princess Gisette. After all, while the Crown Prince had, many times, shown himself to be as nearsighted as he was heavy-handed, she would have been foolish to believe that the same held true for his sister.

No, it was clear from the beginning that the princess was the far more subtle and dangerous of the pair, suspicious enough to pay attention to anything which might threaten her and with both the ambition and the lack of scruples to carry out any task she deemed worth her while. Which mean it made perfect sense that she would have been noticed.

How much Gisette _knew_ was an entirely different consideration. The conversation she had overheard, weeks earlier, had only been enough to confirm that the royal siblings were not unaware of the rebellion’s existence. Whether Gisette was aware of any of its members, of she and her betrothed’s own involvement, was a different story altogether.

Taking a deep breath, Morgaine smoothed her hands over her skirt, feeling her face smooth into its usual mask of inscrutability. She closed her eyes, letting the guise of the young, eager baroness of Namaire she had once been, willing to do whatever it took to gain influence within the court, to win the favor of the crown, settle back over her shoulders.

No doubt the princess was already waiting inside the parlor, fully equipped with both questions and suspicions. About her investigations, about the presence of the rebellion. Possibly even about Clarmont and herself.

Whatever happened, she would be ready.

Nodding once to herself, she stepped into the room.


End file.
